


a slow way

by unpossible



Series: Building Something [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Discussion of Consensual Infidelity, Discussion of past sexual assault (not Stiles), M/M, Separation Anxiety, Stiles/Other is brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:32:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles. We need to talk.”<br/>He goes cold all over. “What?”<br/>“To talk,” Derek repeats, and how’s that for fucking irony? Derek. Wants to talk.<br/>“We don’t need to talk,” Stiles says, sharp and fast, “we’re fine, everything’s fine. Why would we need to talk?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is me, being totally indulgent. I have some stuff for Stiles at college, and then some more future-fic. So we're starting with some snippets to give you an idea of how the next few years of the Stilinski-Hale family plays out. You'll all get an idea that this is taking an...unusual... direction pretty quickly, so feel free not to keep reading if it's not your thing.   
> You can always join us in Ch5 where the Sterek show resumes as normal.

 

The week after Christmas Stiles succumbs to a ferocious bout of the ‘flu and becomes immediately useless for anything other than sniffing, coughing and some world-class tossing and turning.

Between Dad and Scott, Stiles is surviving, but then two deputies go down with the same flu on the same day, and then it’s just Scott, who does, at some point, have to go to work himself. Which is how Stiles ends up installed on the couch at the Hale house, flipping through the channels listlessly. Derek has gone for a grocery run, terrified that they’ll run out of Tylenol and orange juice – he seems convinced that these are the only two things keeping his human boyfriend alive. Stiles makes a mental note to ask later whether the human Hales got sick often, because Derek’s bedside manner sucks ass. And not in any good, sexy way, either.

Stiles is miserable. He shuts his eyes and just blasts misery out into the ether with the power of his mind, _fucking flu_ , fucking throat burning like desert sand, fucking prickly hot skin and fucking arms and legs like lead weights _. Ugh_.

He opens his eyes and there is Peter, looming over him. Stiles yelps and flinches, then launches into an epic coughing fit from the sudden intake of breath.

Peter winces, apologetic, but just waits until the worst is over before he offers the mug in his hand. “My apologies,” he says. “Tea with lemon and honey, to soothe the throat.”

Stiles nods his thanks. He doesn’t try to speak, just sips slowly.

Peter sinks into the nearest armchair and waits. There’s a long silence, then Stiles rolls his head on the pillow, finding a new cool spot. He looks at Peter, the passive set of his shoulders, the zen-like calm on his face. _Entertain me_ , Stiles thinks crankily, and then wonders a second later if that’s what Peter is waiting for... a chance to be of use. Nice of him to leave it up to Stiles, he supposes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say until it’s already out there.

“What was Derek like?” Stiles croaks. “Before the fire.”

“Henpecked,” Peter says promptly.

Stiles stutters on a laugh that turns into a cough. Out of breath and exhausted, he wheezes out, “No way. Really?”

“Oh yes.” He’s smiling faintly. “The Hale women,” his eyes flicker toward the living room and he gives Stiles a meaningful look but doesn’t stop speaking, “have always been strong.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and mouths _Ellie?_

Peter nods. “Yes,” he says and smirks at Stiles. “Those teenage years are going to be such fun.”

Stiles makes a face.

“Talia – my sister – was a strong personality. And Laura was just the same. Between the two of them they bossed the life out of the rest of the children, Derek included.”

Stiles snorts.

“Jacob resisted fiercely,” Peter reminisces. “ _Goodness_ , the fights he had with Laura. Derek always had this kind of... fatalism about him, like he knew it wouldn’t do any good to resist.” He slows then, frowning thoughtfully. “I suppose. Perhaps it made him – want something of his own, something no-one would interfere with.”

 _Like a secret affair_ , Stiles thinks, heart aching.

Peter shakes that off, eyes flicking again to where Ellie must be waiting, listening. “I do remember, though, as a boy,” he says, and now he’s beginning to smile again, “he was always such a stickler for the rules.”

“Rules? You’re _kidding_ ,” Stiles can’t help saying hoarsely. He’s remembering a certain wolf who broken into the Sheriff’s house to hassle Stiles, who-

“Oh yes,” Peter says softly, and his eyes meet Stiles’. “Once he knew the rules of a situation, he would stick to it absolutely. I can’t tell you all the times he would come into the house, outraged at some fudging of the rules one of the other children had accomplished. He was always shocked, every time someone openly, knowingly did the wrong thing. I was sure he’d go into law enforcement, actually,” he adds, with the flicker of a smile.

Stiles manages a smile at that, and says for their audience, “I’ll have to let Dad know.” But underneath he’s thinking, heart aching, of that version of Derek, young and trusting and sure that if the Hales played by the rules, others would too. No wonder he’d been so very bitter when the Agents had talked about their Code.

 

* * *

 

“It’s a full ride to your first choice school, Stiles,” Derek half-shouts. “You’re _not_ turning that down because of _me_. I know how bad you want to study under this guy-”

“You going to go ahead and make another decision for me, Derek?” Stiles shouts back. “Gonna go all alpha on me and just make up your mind like you did with my Dad?”

Derek reels back. “No,” he says, frowning and hurt. “ _No_ , I. I wouldn’t- you _know_ I wouldn’t... do that. I just.”

Stiles sighs and covers his face with one hand. “Okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. You- we never did actually,” Derek gestures so very awkwardly. “We never actually talked about that. After.”

“No,” Stiles says grimly. “We didn’t.” He’d made damn sure of it. Because he was still so boilingly mad about it, underneath, probably mostly because it turns out, Derek was right. Everything _was_ better once his Dad knew. He worried horribly about Dad’s safety, of course, but-

Stiles sighs. He’d been worrying about him _before_ , too. At least now he was an _informed_ Sheriff, knew what was out there, what might hurt him and how. And Stiles had gone way, way too far in that argument, like he does whenever he’s pushed to the limit. Like he had with Scott, at thanksgiving. _You’re not my anything,_ he remembers, and knows that Derek still remembers it too.

“I know I shouldn’t have told him without talking to you first,” Derek says, voice low.

He hesitates. “Yeah,” he says, and lifts his eyes to Derek’s. “You shouldn’t have. But I can – you weren’t entirely wrong,” he manages, grudgingly, and sees some of the tension go out of Derek’s shoulders at that. “But you were a royal ass to do it without talking to me first. _My Dad,_ Derek. That should have been _my choice_.”

Derek just nods. “I know.”

“So, just to be clear, that’s not going to happen ever again, right? No making my decisions for me?”

“Right.” Then Derek swallows and folds his arms. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t argue with you.”

Stiles glares at him, and then spots the slightest flicker of vulnerability and all the fight just disappears. He sighs. “How can I go, Derek?” he sinks into a chair and runs a finger over the kitchen table, tracing the wood-grain. “I know it’s a great opportunity, I _know_ that. But it’s. It’s _so_ far. No way I could do weekends. Even a long weekend is pretty unlikely. I’d never see any of you.”

There’s silence for a while, and then Derek slides into a chair so that they’re looking at each other across the corner of the table. He reaches out and slides a hand along Stiles’ arm. For a moment it’s just stroking, the easy affection Stiles fucking loves so much, and then Derek’s hand rolls his arm over and comes to settle atop the triskelion tattoo.

“We’re forever,” Derek says, matter-of-fact, and Stiles’ breath catches.

Their eyes lock.

“I don’t doubt it anymore,” Derek says. “I don’t wonder if you’re going to leave me. We’re going to be in each other’s lives forever.”

Stiles swallows. His other hand, out of sight, is shaking.

“Being apart would be fucking awful,” Derek says, no sugar-coating there. “It would. I know. And being apart for _years_ could never be easy. But it wouldn’t break what we have, Stiles, and it wouldn’t change your place in this family or this pack.”

Stiles looks away. He believes that, he _does_. Even a few months ago, maybe, he would have wondered, would have done his usual low-self-esteem crap, but between the Victoria shitshow, and the pack’s evolving reaction to Stiles – even Peter’s slow return to stability – things have changed and he just- he _knows_. He’s part of the fabric of this pack, this family. They won’t move on without him, they’ll notice his absence, always, and long for his return. It’s just-

“Ellie could be close to _high school_ by the time I finish,” he says helplessly. “Derek-”

“She’ll miss you,” Derek says. “Of course she will. But she won’t be alone, and she won’t lose contact with you either. It won’t be like-”

“Like the foster families?” Stiles says, bitter. “Like Victoria?”

“You’ll be able to talk to her whenever you want. Skype. Send her presents. You’ll still be part of her life, just in a different way.”

Stiles shakes his head, mouth in a straight line. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “I just, fuck. I don’t know.”

“This one time, Stiles,” Derek says firmly, “You need to choose what’s right just for you. Whatever we have to do to make it work, we will.”

Stiles swallows, and slides his hand until he’s clasping Derek’s. “Fine,” he says, after a long time. “I will. I promise I will.”

 

* * *

 

“Stiles. We need to talk.”

He goes cold all over. “What?”

“To talk,” Derek repeats, and how’s that for fucking irony? _Derek_. Wants to _talk_.

“We don’t need to talk,” Stiles says, sharp and fast, “we’re fine, everything’s fine. Why would we need to talk?”

He just sighs. “Stiles.”

“No,” he says, chest tight with sudden panic. “No talking, _bullshit_ we’re ‘having a talk’. You’ve never wanted to talk before and there is no way I’m going to let you start now by fucking _breaking up with me_. No.” He folds his arms, painfully aware a beat later that it makes him look like Ellie in the middle of one of her outbursts.

“I’m not breaking up with you-” Derek starts, bewildered, but Stiles is on a roll now.

“Oh, no, of course not. You just wanted to discuss the menu for Peter’s birthday dinner,” Stiles snipes, but his body language eases just a little bit, the alpha looks so honestly confused. “Derek, nobody says _we need to talk_ unless it’s a major goddamn issue, okay. I know you’re relationship-challenged but _everybody_ knows that.”

Derek takes a breath. “I never said it wasn’t important, but I can promise you I’m not breaking up with you.” And he gives Stiles a look that he normally only ever sees in bed, when they’re both completely undone and all of Derek’s growly wolfy defences are down.

He takes another breath, nervous all over again. “

“I want,” Derek says, and then stops. “When you go- away, go to college.”

To fucking _Pennsylvania_. Stiles is out of his mind to be doing this. He’d be better off moving to Hawaii. The commute would be kinder.

“I think you should consider... dating. While you’re away.”

Stiles stares at him, mind an utter blank. He heard that wrong. Surely.

Derek just looks at him. Then he swallows. Stiles reaches for the bond, trying to get some clue if one of them is having a psychotic break, but Derek is mostly reading as nervous and anxious and not much else.

“Consider... dating,” Stiles repeats, very slow. “ _Dating._ ”

Derek nods once, like he’s not completely fucking crazy.

“Are you- are you _shitting_ me?” he shoves to his feet so fast his chair tips over and Derek winces.

“Stiles, listen to me. _Listen to me_.”

He takes a shuddering breath and tries not to panic and Derek starts talking.

“I don’t want to lose you. Not ever. I want you to be a part of my life, of Ellie’s life, _forever_. Look at me. Stiles. Do you believe me?”

“But then why? What are you- why would you-” he’s flailing, arms wild, utterly confused and Derek’s anxiety is jacking up Stiles’ own reaction into a beautiful fucking feedback loop of insanity and fear.

“Because I know what it’s _like_ , Stiles.” Derek’s voice breaks and Stiles freezes.

“I know what college can be like, when nothing’s familiar, the stress and the loneliness and feeling like you don’t have anything to hold on to. I _remember_ , okay? I remember being stressed over mid-terms and drunk at frat parties and getting high at movie nights and some of those were great times and some of them were awful and sometimes I did totally dumb stuff but it was all part of the experience, Stiles, and now that I look back I’m glad for all of it and I don’t want to be the reason you miss out on all of that.”

“So you think I’ll just- what? Go to my first kegger and mack on some random asshole that means nothing to me-”

“No. No, of _course_ not.” And Derek, the asshole, he’s smiling, suddenly, rueful. “I know you won’t. And that’s my _point_. You’re planning to go there, go all the way to goddam Pennsylvania and live this life like you’re a -I don’t know- some kind of war bride. No affection, no dates, always holding back and holding in so you can be true to someone who’s miles away and can’t even fucking hold you or kiss you-” Derek’s voice breaks.

And somehow that penetrates Stiles’ hurt and rage. “So... your solution is that I just randomly hook up with strangers and somehow that will help me? Derek, in what universe would that _not_ make me feel like a total _asshole_? And if it somehow didn’t bother me, you’re trying to tell me you wouldn’t go all jealous alpha on my ass?”

“That’s why I’m trying to talk to you now,” Derek says, suddenly soft. “To try and find a solution. Because we’re not going to be one of those couples that can’t survive being long-distance. Stiles, I need you to understand why I’m bringing this up. Because I’m a selfish asshole and I want do everything I can to _keep_ you.”

Stiles breathes, just breathes. _I want to keep you_. Yeah. That sounds good, and he can feel the utter conviction Derek is feeling through the bond. He watches as Derek buries his face in his hands, and yet somehow, he’s still talking.

“I’m a single father heading rapidly towards thirty with a business to run, and I’m trying to hold on to my brilliant eighteen year old boyfriend. I have no right to do it, I know that, but I know _you_ too, and I know you’re stubborn enough to suffer almost anything for someone you love.”

 

 

“Brilliant?” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s bare shoulder, sometime later.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tenses. No-one ever says I talked to Deaton and he invited us over for dinner, or I talked to Deaton and he wants to borrow the lawn-mower. Nope, it’s always Blah blah Deaton blah blah death blah blah destiny blah blah enigmatic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm nervous because I haven't written this kind of story before, exactly, and I know it's a trigger issue for some people. Personally, I'm still scared to read the rest of i_claudia's Check/Mate series because I saw the kind of tag I'm about to use and if those two don't make it - it's gonna WRECK me, I love those stories that much.
> 
> So. Please be warned, there are conversations about 'consensual infidelity' in the next few chapters, and you should watch the tags as they change if that bothers you. If this is an issue for you, please either have someone you trust read it first, or rejoin us in Chapter 5 when it will be all Sterek/pacfic, all the time.

 

There’s afterglow, and they’re mid-cuddle when Derek says slowly, “I talked to Deaton.”

Stiles tenses. No-one ever says _I talked to Deaton and he invited us over for dinner,_ or _I talked to Deaton and he wants to borrow the lawn-mower._ Nope, it’s always Blah blah Deaton blah blah death blah blah destiny blah blah enigmatic.

“He told me...” Derek sighs. “There’s another reason I brought up the- thing. The other day. About when you go away.”

Stiles leverages up onto his elbows so he can watch Derek’s face. The thing. The _let’s not break up but you should start dating_ Conversation of Insanity.

“You should talk to him,” Derek says, and sighs. “He says that the- the bond. There might be... consequences if we’re parted.”

Stiles frowns. “Consequences?”

“You’re part of a wolf-pack now, Stiles. And not just in an emotional sense, but you’re magically bonded to an alpha. You’re not like other humans anymore.”

Stiles raises a brow. “Yes, I got that when I survived being burned alive on the strength of our wolfy bond.”

Derek swallows. That’s not a good memory for him. His arm tightens around Stiles and then he says, “Deaton thinks it’s possible you might experience... a kind of bond-sickness. At being separated from your pack.”

Stiles frowns. “Bond sickness?”

Derek shrugs. “He didn’t tell me much, I think he feels like it’s your medical information, he was just giving me a courtesy heads-up as your bonded, and the alpha, I guess. But Peter had some stuff on his laptop, I looked it up.”

“What kind of sickness?”

“Like. Anxiety? Maybe. Depression. Sense of disconnectedness. And, and skin-hunger. Basically, you need pack close by.”

“But we don’t have any spare pack.”

“Peter would-”

“I can’t ask your uncle to lurk around Penn State for four fucking years, Derek, to prevent me having a sad. Jesus!” he pushes away, agitated, and grabs at his hair. “I shouldn’t have accepted. I should have-”

“Hey,” Derek says, soothing. The asshole has added _soothing_ to his repertoire, along with insanely hot and broody. Like he needed _more_ superpowers. “We’ll figure it out. And if it gets too bad, then you can transfer, right?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Right.” It had been the only thing that had gotten him to agree. As long as he keeps his grades up, he should be able to transfer to a closer institution. The Professor won’t be the rock-star of the criminal justice field, of course, and Stiles won’t have a scholarship, either, but.

 

* * *

 

The phone rings as they’re on their way to grab some dinner, and the Bluetooth adapter Stiles had bought Derek for Christmas kicks in.

“Hello?” Derek says tentatively, and Stiles grins at him, cos, yeah, he’s going to drag his boyfriend kicking and screaming into the early twenty first century.

“Derek,” Peter says. “I may have a solution for your Stiles problem.”

Awkward pause.

“Hey, Peter,” Stiles says, and adds helpfully, “You’re on speaker.”

“Ah.”

Longer awkward pause. Derek sighs quietly.

“Sooo. There’s a Stiles problem, huh? Seems like something that maybe, I should know?”

“We’ll call you back, Peter,” Derek says, and then looks kind of helplessly at Stiles, because he’s a Martian and doesn’t know how to end a Bluetooth call.

Stiles can’t help the snort of laughter. He reaches up and hits the button.

“There’s a Stiles problem?”

“It’s not the way it sounds,” Derek says weakly. “It’s the- the bond sickness. We were worried. Peter had- he called and said he had an idea.”

Stiles just waits.

“If we can find someone in your area – someone who’ll pledge to the pack. It might... help.”

Stiles is staring at him. “You mean, offer the bite?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“And I was going to hear about this when?”

“Peter just mentioned it to me last night,” Derek says immediately. “I was going to tell you over dinner.”

Stiles watches him through narrowed eyes. That’s possible. Peter is in Pennsylvania right now negotiating with the local pack. Packs in major urban centres can’t be as territorial as older packs like the Hales, and university towns even less so, but the bonded mate of an alpha is a slightly different proposition from the normal college-age beta.

“Ah- _huh_ ,” Stiles says, and lets Derek stew for a little while. Serves him right, the close-mouthed alpha bastard.

 

 

* * *

 

So it turns out Peter’s solution to ‘the Stiles problem’ is called Kerrie. She was bitten years ago, when she was seventeen, as part of a tiny pack in rural Pennsylvania. She’s had some ‘conflicts’ with the new alpha, apparently, and wants to move back to the city to be near her ageing grandmother, who is getting to the point of entering a nursing home.

Peter, like the silver-tongued devil he is, convinces the Silvestri pack that an adopted beta would be a charming addition to their town, as well as a way to relieve the Silvestris of their main concern – that something would happen to another alpha’s bonded mate in their territory, and create a five-star shitstorm.

Kerrie flies out to California in March and spends two weeks getting to know the Hales. She’s quiet - _very_ quiet - and nervous around Derek in a way that doesn’t speak well of the alpha of her original pack. He’s courteous to a fault, and its actually Peter who seems to put her at her ease, which is either a testament to his movement toward better mental health, or his acting skills, and Stiles genuinely isn’t sure which.

Stiles likes her well enough. There’s an age gap, of course, and they don’t immediately seem to have much in common but she’s lovely with Ellie, and that goes a long, long way with Stiles.

 

 

* * *

 

  


“Derek.” Stiles croaks it out and what the fuck is _wrong with him_ , how is he fucked up enough that he makes this call to _Derek_ , of all fucking people-

“What is it, what’s wrong,” Derek says, for a second reminiscent of the scowly beta-then-alpha of that first memorable year – a question without the right intonation. “ _Stiles_ -”

“I’m not hurt,” he says immediately, “I’m not in danger.” No. But he is a fucking _idiot_.

There’s a pause, then Derek says, “Tell me.”

Stiles shakes his head mutely even though Derek can’t see it. What is he _doing?_

“Stiles,” Derek says, very softly. “You know you can tell me anything.” There’s a few noises and Stiles tracks them, trying to quiet his mind, his breathing. Derek is climbing the stairs, those are footsteps going down the hallway, then it goes quiet again except for the definite closing of a door. Derek is in his room – in their room – alone, cocooned, waiting for Stiles to speak.

“Just talk to me, baby,” Derek says, and Stiles is completely unmanned by that soft, coaxing tone. The rest of the pack would never believe the alpha is even capable of sounding so gentle and sweet.

“I’m just so fucking _lonely_ ,” it bursts out of him and he has to take several huge breaths after. _“Fuck,”_ he half-shouts, furious with himself for feeling this way and twice as furious that he’s laying it on Derek, who will blame himself and wallow in the guilt until the day he dies.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then Derek says, _“Stiles.”_ He sounds completely lost.

“Shit,” he says, “oh Christ this is ridiculous. I’m not alone, I’m making friends here, I was at a Gay Straight Alliance party _tonight_ for God’s sake, I-”

“Hey,” Derek says, calm and clear, “You’re allowed to feel this way. Don’t you dare try to rationalise this away. This is real stuff, Stiles. You’re on the other side of the country from your family and your pack, you’re hiding the biggest parts of yourself from everyone around you and you’re almost certainly touch-starved. You can’t just talk this away, Stiles. You know that.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. “Shit,” he says. “This is a real crisis, isn’t it. I mean- if you’re suddenly the calm and reasonable one, we’re in serious trouble here.”

“Asshole,” Derek says, and the affection in it almost breaks Stiles all over again. He tilts the phone away from his mouth and mashes his face into his hand to muffle the odd sound he makes.

When he comes back again to the phone Derek is waiting silently.

“Hey,” he says on a sigh.

“Okay?”

“Mph.” Stiles says, and wriggles back on the bed until he can pull his legs up and rest his head there. “Pretty far from it, I think.”

Derek sighs a little.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

He can hear small sounds, thinks Derek is probably shifting on the bed much the same as Stiles just did, getting comfortable. “You put up a good front,” he finally says. “But yeah. I could tell you were getting... tense.”

There’s a long silence, then Stiles scrunches himself up tighter and cuts right across all the other shit to say stupidly, “I don’t want to date other people.”

Derek breathes in and out a few times, carefully even. “That’s your decision,” he says. He’s clearly not going to push that, not after Stiles’ nuclear reaction the last time they talked about it. “So. Okay, that’s not an option. What is?”

“I’ll do better when Kerrie gets back,” Stiles argues. “I can be myself with her.”

“True,” Derek acknowledges. “But that’s at least two more weeks away.”

Stiles sighs. He is not going to begrudge Kerrie’s grandmother a trip to Florida to see her dying brother. He’s just _not_.

“What is it about dating other people that bothers you?” Derek asks, and his tone is so careful it almost hurts.

Stiles thinks that over. He’s not so worried about Derek’s reaction anymore. He knows, as much as anyone can, that the other man means it when he says he wants Stiles to get what he needs.

“The fakery,” Stiles says. “There’s no way to go on a date and not be just, basically lying the whole fucking time. I mean – what’s the point of dating? To find someone compatible, someone you can trust with your whole self and I already have that, so whatever hapless guy or girl I dated would basically be getting shat on, because I’d just be using them the entire time.”

There’s silence. Then Derek says, “What if you didn’t have to lie?”

“You mean, date someone but tell them up front that I’m pretty much already married?”

He can hear the grin in Derek’s voice – _married_ – when he says “Some people might go for that. The lure of the forbidden... or maybe some people might appreciate the lack of pressure. You’d get points for honestly.”

Stiles snorts. Right. “Like those guys who get permission from their spouses to go hookers for blow jobs because the wives don’t like sucking dick.”

“Outsourcing,” Derek says lightly. “It’s the modern way.”

Stiles blinks. For a moment he’s frozen, because – no – but then he finds himself saying, “How would you feel about that?”

“About... outsourcing?” Derek asks slowly.

Stiles swallows. His stomach is churning but he keeps trying to hold on to those conversations they had back in Beacon Hills, when his acceptance letters had started piling up. The rock-solid certainty in the way Derek had said _I_ _won’t lose you. Not ever._

The silence lengthens and Derek seems to realize he can’t find a reply, because the alpha lets out a careful breath and restarts the conversation. “Talk to me.”

Stiles rolls the phone across his forehead, hating himself for the thought that has popped up.

“You can tell me anything, Stiles. We can work through anything. That’s what it means to be what we are to each other.”

“I don’t want to pretend to be interested in other people,” he finally says. “I don’t want to listen to their stories and tell them mine, go out and do shit and get to know them and open up and-”

_No_ , he thinks. Just- _no_.

“I get that,” Derek says. “I think I even understand why. Keep going.”

“You said,” Stiles starts, then chokes.

There’s silence. “I said a lot of things,” Derek finally replies. “Any hints?”

“You said you were sure of me. Of us. Rock solid.”

“I am,” he says immediately. “Yes.”

“And you said- you said-” he licks his lips, heart hammering. He can’t believe he’s even _considering_ this.

Derek lets out a long, slow breath. “When we first arrived in New York,” he says slowly, “Laura used to drag me out to clubs, to try and get me out of my head.”

Stiles waits.

“At first I was just- awkward.” He sighs. “The noise and the lights and the stink of that many people- _ugh._ ”

Stiles feels an unwilling smile tug at his mouth. _Poor sourwolf. Did people try to mack on you and your stupidly gorgeous face?_

“And then I started to get used to it. Dialled my senses back, started to get Laura’s point.”

“What was it?” Stiles asks after a long time waiting.

“That I could... get lost there. I could dance, or I could watch, or I could get sucked off in the bathroom and for a few minutes, at least, I could be free of all the shit that was weighing me down.”

Stiles sucks in a breath.

“I had random encounters with a lot of random strangers,” Derek says, matter-of-fact. “It’s not a lifestyle choice I’d recommend long-term, but it worked for that period of my life, when I had nothing else to hang on to. And at first- the first few times I was kind of- shaky, after. Not sure how I should feel about it. And then I just kind of... let go, I guess? My body wanted it, even if my head sometimes wasn’t sure, and as long as I wasn’t doing anything extreme, nothing that truly fucked me up, it served a purpose.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says shakily, “but you were single.”

There’s a short pause, then Derek says, “Do you think less of me because of what I did?”

“No,” Stiles says, scowling, “but like I said, YOU WERE SINGLE.”

“And you’re _alone,”_ Derek says, and all his guilt is right there on the surface.

“Not because you’ve done anything wrong,” Stiles shoots back, “it’s not like you exiled me here. I made the choice to come-”

“And I told you then, that I wouldn’t blame you or judge you for whatever you had to do to survive while you’re there. I said it and I meant it.”

“I love you,” Stiles says helplessly. “How am I supposed to fuck other people when I’m in love with you?”

“You told me once,” Derek says slowly, “that if you died I’d eventually get better. That you’d be a scar instead of a wound.”

“You’re not fucking _dead_ , Derek,” Stiles yells, because Jesus _Christ_ -

“I’m not dead, but you’re still alone,” Derek replies. “I’m more of a wound right now than anything else, Stiles, do you think I would respect you less for trying to stay whole and healthy?”

“How the fuck can it be _healthy_ to fuck other people when I’m still with you?”

“I’m not telling you to fuck other people,” Derek says, voice tight but still under control. “I’m not telling you to do _anything_. What I am saying is that you have the right to find a way to get through this and if you need it, you have my permission.”

Stiles winces. _“Derek,”_ he says, and shit, now he’s crying.

“The idea of you spending every fucking night lonely and miserable in your room is far, far worse for me, Stiles, than the idea of you spending half an hour getting off with another human being. I _won’t care_ , Stiles, I _swear_ it. You deserve to be touched. You need some fucking human affection. I have Ellie, I have Peter and your Dad, I have the pack. And I _still_ feel like my gut is hollow most of the time because you’re not here. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, without any comfort at all. It’s not a weakness or a betrayal, Stiles, it’s just _survival_. I don’t care what you do to feel better, I only care that it helps you.”

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really intrigued by all the comments this is provoking. I'm not going to get too involved in the debate though, because for one thing this is already written, pretty much, and so I don't want to start second-guessing myself, I guess. I'm not sure what else I'd want to say anyway, other than maybe to remember that I'm not necessarily recommending these as life choices, it's a journey the characters are going on because it made sense in my head...
> 
> Anyway, just to reiterate, if you don't like the idea of Stiles/Other, please rejoin us in Chapter 5. This fic is going to end up taking us waaay into the future. Like, Ellie has her driver's license by the end, 'k?

 

He takes a huge, deep breath and makes the fucking call.

“Hey,” Derek says. It sounds like he’s laughing. “What’s up.”

Stiles’ stomach drops. “Hey,” he says back, and shit, he sounds like a cancer diagnosis. “How’s things.”

“You okay?” The quick concern just makes him feel worse.

“Yeah, fine. Just- checking in.”

There’s a pause. A soft murmur, Stiles thinks it might be Peter in the background, then the sound of a door closing. “Tell me,” Derek says.

“No, it’s-”

“Stiles. Tell me.”

He stops and swallows. Tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. The silence stretches and stretches and then he just says it. “I’m pretty sure one of the guys at TaeKwonDo was checking me out today.”

A beat, then Derek says, “Okay.” He takes a breath, “Okay, so he has good taste. Is he a black belt?”

Stiles lets out a shaky laugh that has shades of hysteria. “Nope,” he manages around the lump in his throat. “Blue belt, like me.”

“So you could totally take him down if you needed to,” Derek says evenly. “That’s good to know.”

“How do you know he’s not eight feet tall and built like you?”

Derek snorts softly. “Please. I’ve seen you fight. You have a mean streak no-one ever suspects until it’s way too late for them. No matter what size he is, unless the guy is a long way ahead of you in technique, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

Stiles laughs. “Okay,” he says. And then, “Excellent job with the deflection there. Now be honest with me about how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking.”

Derek breathes in a time or two. Then he says, “I still feel the same. Mostly worried about you and wishing I was there. No sudden onset of homicidal rage, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m just- surprised. I thought you’d try to stubborn it out until you were actually having panic attacks again.”

Stiles winces. “Um?”

“You had a panic attack?” Derek asks, voice tight and sharp. “ _Stiles_ -”

“I woke up out of a bad dream,” he says, “middle of the night. Nothing you could have done-”

“Call me anyway,” Derek orders, clearly furious. “We had an agreement, Stiles-”

“Okay. Okay. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Now the rest of it.”

Derek sighs.

_“Derek,”_ Stiles warns. “All of it. Otherwise I won’t even consider-”

“Okay. Okay.” There’s a long silence. Then Derek says, “I know you’re worried I’ll be thinking about Cesare.”

Stiles swallows. “Yes.” And Jesus, Derek has come a long way from Mr Scowly McAvoidance.

“I really don’t- don’t feel like that will happen. This is- it’s totally different. As fucked up as it may seem to anyone else, this is something that I think will help us, long-term.”

“It’ll help us long term for me to make out with another guy,” Stiles says flatly. He sinks down onto the bed and stares at his reflection in the window.

Derek sighs. “Look. There’s the whole long-distance thing, which is, you know, it’s own problem. But.” Stiles can almost see the shrug. “Separate issue? I can’t pretend that I don’t still sometimes freak out about your age, about the fact that I’m your first boyfriend and that I’ve practically railroaded you into a permanent-”

“ _Hey,_ no, don’t even start with that _-”_

“-because of me you were a stepfather at _eighteen_ , Stiles,” Derek says miserably.

“I _love_ Ellie, that was totally my choice-”

“I know it was. I _know_. But-”

“But what?”

“Sometimes I feel guilty that you have nothing to compare this to. So. Maybe this will... help with that?”

Stiles falls back on the bed with an _umph_ and shakes his head at the ceiling. “We are so fucked up,” he says.

“Tell me about it,” Derek sighs down the line. “Because I’m sitting here trying not to picture the guy, and if I’m really honest, trying to figure out what percentage of douchebag I want him to be.”

Stiles bursts out laughing. “A _percentage_?”

Derek sighs again, but this time it sounds like he’s smiling. “Well, yeah. I don’t wish for him to be a total asshole, naturally. You deserve better than that.”

“Just _slightly_ douchey,” Stiles clarifies. “Care to explain your reasoning?”

Derek makes a small, embarrassed noise, and Stiles can tell he’s hiding his face in his hand. “Because. If he’s too nice...”

“Oh my God, _Derek_ ,” Stiles shrills. “I am not going to throw you over for a fucking liberal arts major with flat feet, are you shitting me with this? We have a _daughter_ \- I have a fucking _tattoo-_ ”

Derek makes an odd noise that’s part groan, part laugh. “All right, he says, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No, because _seriously_ -”

“Stiles, I really- I’m sorry.” He says. “It’s just, you know.”

“If you say I could do better I swear to fucking Christ and all that is holy-”

“Nope,” Derek says hastily, “I promise.”

Stiles subsides, mostly because there’s nothing else he can do. Derek’s boatload of issues isn’t going to disappear during one phone call, they probably won’t even disappear during one decade, to be honest.

There’s a long silence, then Stiles sighs. “Look. I don’t even know if-”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“I really don’t know if I want to,” he finally says.

“Okay,” Derek says. “But if you do decide to, it’s okay. It’s really – it’s okay, Stiles.”

“You’ll respect me in the morning?” He jokes, but his voice cracks halfway through.

“Every morning,” Derek says, deadly serious. “This won’t change that, I swear. Stiles, I _swear_.”

He takes a few shaky breaths and then says, “I think. I’m gonna talk to him. Tell him how it is, that I’m in a relationship. If he’s interested in some kind of – casual arrangement, then. _Maybe_. Maybe?”

“Okay,” is all Derek says. His voice is calm and very carefully even.

Stiles swallows. “I won’t-”

“You don’t have to-”

“I won’t kiss him.” He blurts out, feeling like an idiot. But he just. He can’t imagine doing that sweet, intimate thing with a stranger, knowing Derek is on the other side of the country, waiting for him.

“Stiles, you don’t have to-”

“I don’t want to kiss anyone else. I mean, really, I don’t want to.” It’s always been one of his favourite things, and he doesn’t hold it sacred or anything, he’s kissed other people before, okay. But somehow he can’t kiss some casual-

Just no.

“Okay,” Derek finally says. “But- listen.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t- I think it’ll be better if- I mean, you don’t need to.”

“You don’t want to know?” Stiles says softly. There’s that churning feeling in his stomach again.

“Yeah,” Derek replies. “Not, uh. Details. You know?

“Yeah.” He swallows. Imagination. Not their friend, in this circumstance. “I guess if I’m going to go ahead with it I’ll, um, let you know that I’ve made the decision... but that’s it. I won’t like, mention his name or anything. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah. Uh. I’m really- I’m okay with it, Stiles, I am. But.”

“Just not a blow by blow-” Stiles stops suddenly, and Derek snorts the most inelegant laugh he’s ever heard.

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out, “I could probably do without the blow-”

“Oh fuck you, you asshole,” Stiles says without heat.

 

 

***

 

Stiles talks to Brandon. Brandon is surprised. Speculative. Definitely interested. Stiles leaves things undecided and calls Derek as he walks across the quad, still buzzing with nerves.

He knows Derek can tell something’s up, knows too that the alpha won’t ask.

Stiles takes a deep breath and carefully turns the conversation to safer waters. How Ellie’s therapy is going, Derek’s latest commission with a medical centre two towns over, Peter’s painstaking work in the garden out the back.

“Derek?” Stiles says.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t want to fuck this up. You and me, I mean.” He takes a shaky breath. “If this- I mean, in ten years time if I look back and know that-”

“I know,” Derek says, “me too. But I- I don’t think it will, Stiles. I’d tell you if I did, I swear.”

He stops under a tree and waits for a long time, then he says, “I think. I think I’m going to.”

“Okay,” Derek says slowly, very calm. “That’s all right.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on,” Brandon breathes against his jaw, “just one kiss, what the fuck can it hurt-”

“I told you, _no_ ,” Stiles says, breath coming faster. “Now shut the fuck up so I can get off.”

Brandon laughs, breath hitching, and says, “Asshole.” A thumb swirls around the head of Stiles’ cock and he moans, tries to blank his mind and just _feel_ which is the only way he can do this. It doesn’t take long, after that. He hears Brandon’s harsh breath and feels him shoot over Stiles’ hand and then, with a broken moan, Stiles comes.

They clean up in silence, Stiles backing away a little for some space the minute his legs are steady. He catches Brandon’s wry look. “I feel so used,” Brandon says.

“Suck it up, princess,” Stiles says with a shrug.

“Maybe next time.” He raises an eyebrow in query.

Stiles hesitates. “Maybe,” he says, then shoves his way out of the room and is gone.

He’s thinking as he walks back to his dorm, though. _Come on_ , he hears it again. _What can it hurt_...

Frowning, he realizes why it’s bothering him. He’s read words like that in testimonials from rape victims. Not that Brandon had been pushing that hard, no that Stiles had even been made uncomfortable, but. Somehow Stiles can’t let go of the idea of it – of what could have happened under different circumstances. If Brandon were a different kind of guy. If Stiles had been drunk, or isolated. He knows most sexual assault victims know their attackers...

When he gets back to his room he cranks up the laptop and goes into research mode. By the end of the night he has a bunch of really fucking disturbing statistics and rough idea for his Honors Thesis topic.

Then he puts his head in his hands and lets his mind go where it will. What he did earlier today, how it’s left him feeling... weird, but not as bad as he’d thought it would. Derek was right, in a sense. It doesn’t feel like cheating, it just feels... physical. A release. No messy feelings, he’s not even tempted to connect with Brandon on any other level and yeah, huh. That’s maybe something else Stiles wouldn’t have learned without doing this, that the physical and the emotional don’t always collide in that deep, abiding way he and Derek have managed.

And then he sighs. Because this is just the second year of their separation, and though it’s helping, he’s really not sure he can keep doing this.

 

* * *

 

Derek’s not a stalker. He’s an _attentive boyfriend_ , and he maybe took a detailed tour of the campus last time he was here, making sure he could visualise Stiles in class, in the library, at the coffee shop he talks about all the time. He had also, maybe, taken the time to filter all of the scents to make sure they’re garden-variety human. He’d damn near gotten high from walking past one of the frat houses and breathing in too deep.

Point is he knows Stiles’ schedule, knows where the gym is, and he doesn’t run because that would be dumb, but he maybe power-walks through the quad to get himself there before the class finishes so he can watch his mate in action. He carefully doesn’t access the bond that’s always waiting at the back of his head, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

They’re sparring when he gets there, Stiles focused and half-grinning as he goes up against one of the black belts, a dark-skinned woman with a gorgeous lilting accent. Stiles has the advantage of reach but she is shockingly fast and evades his strikes easily, laughs at something he says with a rueful grimace, and demonstrates the block again. The teacher calls out something in Korean and the class stills.

Each of the pairs bow in unison, and as they fall back into their lines she is still talking to Stiles about overextending his elbow. He’s listening intently, mimicking her action, and then hastily falls back in with the other blue belts, back straight, eyes forward as they assemble in orderly lines. Derek shifts around, careful not to step into Stiles’ line of vision. He’s never studied a martial art but there’s enough formality here for him to get the idea that it would be bad manners to interrupt a class in progress.

So it’s not until the class is dismissed and everyone turns and disperses into small groups that Stiles spots him. Derek’s had time, and while he may have changed a lot since he and Stiles first met, he _is_ still kind of an asshole, so bites back a grin and actually takes the time to pose – hands shoved in his jacket pockets, casually leaning against the door frame, eyes on Stiles.

His mate stumbles. Stops. His hand freezes inches from his water bottle and Derek just barely hears the soft, disbelieving, “Derek?” before Stiles is flying across the room to him, face splitting into a grin bright enough to blind.

 

 

 

He’s congratulating himself on a surprise reunion well done, right up until the moment Stiles disappears into the locker room to grab his gear, and a liberal arts major with flat feet comes over to say 'hi' to Derek.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“So... _you’re_ Derek.” The inflection in the name is faux admiration and a truckload of innuendo. Derek looks away and takes a careful breath through his mouth, trying to dilute the scents that are ticking every fucking box in his self-loathing-possessive-alpha- heart. This guy has touched what is Derek’s. This guy has had Stiles moaning and undone beneath his hands, and recently.

He’s Stiles’ age. Unattached, and unencumbered. Human. He’d be a perfectly safe and uncomplicated boyfriend for Stiles. Basically, he's Derek’s worst nightmare.

Derek glances toward the change rooms, willing Stiles to appear, bag in hand. How long could it take to change out of the uniform and into jeans and a t-shirt?

“Yes,” he says, holding onto every ounce of control.

“Huh.” The asshole smells intimidated – _good,_ the inner wolf growls – but he’s pulling off a pretty good impression of calm. “You’re older than I thought you’d be.”

Derek takes another breath for control and the renewal of that combination BrandonandStiles churns his fucking stomach. He clenches his hands and stops talking. The last few students leave the hall, nobody left in the tiny lobby but Derek and Brandon.

Derek’s still in control. He’s not going to- to do _anything_ that will make Stiles freak out.

Stiles hasn’t done anything wrong.

It just – meeting the guy. Being confronted with evidence of it like this. It _feels_ wrong.

Brandon is still talking, Derek tries not to listen but words and phrases filter through, light and mocking and like being jabbed with a wolfsbane knife. _Open-minded... little arrangement... hold onto him... should thank you..._

_“Brandon.”_ It’s Stiles voice, harsh with rage and hurt. “What the _fuck_ are you-”

“It’s fine,” Derek manages. He waits another beat to make sure his eyes aren’t red, then lifts his head and stares directly at his rival. “He was just leaving.”

He has no idea what the asshole sees on Derek’s face but he blanches, takes a step back and then glances toward Stiles, uncertain.

“Get. _Out_.” Stiles says, voice harder than Derek has ever heard it. He steps to Derek, turns his back on Brandon like he isn’t even there and says, low, “Babe. You okay?”

Derek keeps breathing through his mouth as Brandon stumbles back and away, heart racing wildly in shock.

“I’m okay,” Derek says, and concentrates on the sound of Stiles’ heart. It’s not quite a lie.

_“Derek,”_ he says, and now Stiles’ scent is turning sour with what must be shame, and _no_ , that’s not happening, this was Derek’s idea, this was Derek’s doing and Stiles is not going to carry the weight of that.

“It’s all right,” he forces the words out. He grabs Stiles’ hand and starts walking, knowing that movement will help both the scent problem and the need to do something.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, and glances sideways to remind himself of what he has, so much more than he has any right to. Stiles at his side, the fierce kick of joy in the other man’s heartbeat when he’d seen Derek ten minutes before. “It really is,” he says, and tries to push his pure love for his mate through the bond.

Stiles is watching him, that mobile face conveying everything that's already flowing through the bond – his delight at having Derek here, his miserable guilt at having another man’s scent on him. “I need a shower,” is all he says as they reach the rental car.

“I got a room in town,” Derek unlocks the car doors and hesitates for a moment. Then he leans in, careful to keep their bodies apart, and cups Stiles’ cheek. If he concentrates, he can tease out the different scents. There’s no Brandon here – Stiles had always said there’d be no kissing and he’s no liar, Derek knows that deep down in his marrow – and so he presses his lips to Stiles’ and tries to pour every particle of emotion he has into the kiss.

Stiles groans, heartfelt and relieved, and brings his own hand up to clutch at Derek’s wrist. “ _Derek_ ,” he whispers in the middle of it all, shaky and scared, and he breaks the kiss and lifts his head.

“It’s _really_ good to see you,” Derek says softly, and smiles.

 

***

 

“Stiles,” Brandon says, pushing off the wall from where he’d been waiting.

Stiles keeps walking. For a moment he’s tempted to say nothing at all, but then he mentally rolls his eyes. Since when has he ever successfully held back his words? Especially when he’s vibrating with fury like he is right now. So he veers to the left, entering the empty common room instead of taking the stairs to his own floor.

Brandon frowns, confused, and glances toward the stairs, like he fucking fully expected to be invited up to Stiles’ room.

“You wanted something?” Stiles asks, short. He’s genuinely curious about what Brandon is telling himself on this one.

“I uh, wanted to check you were okay.”

“You did.”

“Yeah. Uh. Derek looked kinda, um, furious the other day. I hope you guys didn’t, y’know.”

“What? Argue? Break up?”

Brandon blinks, clearly disconcerted that Stiles is being so direct. Then he says lamely, “Yeah.”

“We didn’t break up,” Stiles says tightly. “Never gonna happen.”

His eyebrows go up at that. “Wow, okay. Bold prediction.”

“Not a prediction,” Stiles says. “Just the truth. So. You were worried about me. Worried that- what? Derek would lose his temper and do something stupid? Hit me, maybe?” He knows the impression Derek gives.

Brandon shifts uncomfortably, “Well, yeah.”

“Right. And you were so concerned for my well-being that you deliberately antagonized him about our arrangement the first time you met him. Real nice. You _fucking hypocrite_.”

“I didn’t,” Brandon starts, eyes widening, and it’s just the final fucking straw.

“You know what, _don’t even_ ,” Stiles bursts out. “I _heard_ you, okay, I heard every fucking word you said to him, you _asshole._ ” And he’s still angry with himself that he just stood there, so stunned he couldn’t move, just stood there while Brandon unloaded that shit all over his mate.

Brandon flushes, which for some reason just feeds Stiles’ rage.

“I _told_ you,” he says, low and furious. “I told you right from the start what this was. I told you about Derek, I told you I was never going to choose you or anyone else over him, I _told you_ this was strictly casual and _why_.”

“I know-”

“I should have guessed when you kept trying to kiss me,” Stiles grinds on. “I just assumed you were a nice guy trying to adjust to a new arrangement and not, you know, a lying, manipulative _asshole_.”

“Stiles,” he begins, startled.

“No,” he says, stepping close, vision red with rage. “This time you will fucking _listen_. This is over. Whatever arrangement we had, whatever friendship we might have had, is _done_. You understand?”

Brandon is staring at him like he’s crazy. “Because I- wait, is Derek _making_ you-”

“Oh my _God,_ shut the fuck _up_ ,” Stiles says, shaking with rage. “You don’t know him, you don’t know anything about him, in fact if you can say that you don’t even fucking know _me_. He’s not _making_ me do anything, he wouldn’t even _try_. You might be interested to know he didn’t mention you once the entire weekend. Amazingly enough,” he says, nasty, “we were focused on what _matters_. We were focused on _each other_ , Brandon, and not some meaningless dude who touched my dick a few times.”

Brandon sucks in a sharp breath, and for the first time Stiles sees a flick of hurt. He stops, confused.

He takes a deep breath and gives in to his goddam curiosity. “Why? Why did you do that to him? To me?”

“I just. I don’t know.”

Stiles gives him a look and starts for the door.

“I don’t, I mean, I wasn’t deliberately trying to break you up, I swear,” and that’s the first thing he’s said this morning that Stiles believes. Brandon swallows, looks down at the floor and says quietly, “I guess I just, the way you talk about him, I.”

“You were- jealous,” Stiles says in wonder. Oh. _Ohhh_.

“Not-” Brandon licks his lips. “I don’t know, maybe?”

Stiles shakes his head and turns away. Whatever. He can’t waste energy caring about this. “For someone who isn’t sure what he feels or why, you sure as hell tried to do as much damage as you could in the time you had.”

Brandon shrugs helplessly. “Sorry? It’s just - I mean, why him and not me? Sure he’s hot, but-”

Stiles takes a careful breath. “Brandon, dude, shut up. It’s not because he’s hot, okay, that is the very least of what attracts me to Derek.” He takes another, deep breath. “Maybe think of it this way – when the two of you met, the other day? Two dudes that are both into the same guy,” and he flushes as he says it because that’s just _weird_. “One of you acted like an asshat and tried to fuck things up for me, and the other one kept his shit together no matter how much he was hurting, and never once said or did anything to make me feel cheap or- or fucking, like a cheating _asshole._ ” His voice breaks on the last word and he turns his head away, blinking hard.

There’s silence. Then Brandon says softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I mean, I didn’t intend to make you feel-” he just stops then, like he doesn’t have any words left.

“I’ll accept you didn’t have any bad intentions, man,” Stiles says, equally quiet. “Because you didn’t think about it enough to have any intentions at all. You just charged in there like some kind of fifth grade Godzilla, not caring who or what you stomped on as long as you felt better.” He takes a short, sharp breath, blinking hard.

“But now he’s _there_ and I’m _here_ , and completely amazing weekend aside, I just know that when he’s feeling shitty he’s gonna focus on this, on your stupid smug face and your _I should really thank you_ , and on how you’re right _here_ , seeing me every day. And I’m _stuck_ here, thinking how he could find someone better, someone who’s fucking, who’s _there_ , who can go to Ellie’s dance recitals and-”

“Ellie?”

“Our daughter,” Stiles snaps, and wow, he’s really upset because he never talks about Ellie. It’s just all too much to explain.

“You have a _daughter?_ ” Brandon’s voice hits soprano levels along with his eyebrows.

“I _told_ you we were the real thing,” Stiles retorts, furious.

There’s silence. Stiles folds his arms and stares down at the floor.

“Shit.” Brandon sighs, guilty. “It was a dick move.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles looks up. He _is_ genuinely sorry, Stiles can see that, and so he nods. But there’s something else now, a watchfulness has taken up residence in Stiles that overrides everything else. Brandon _likes_ him, and if he’d seen that earlier, maybe this could have been avoided.

Brandon rakes his hands through his hair. “Look, just, can we still be friends?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Stiles, come on. I swear I won’t... mess with you guys again.”

Stiles sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He shifts, just enough to feel the ache in his ass that reminds him of Derek. “Look. It’s not- I’m not worried you’ll come between us, okay? I’m not being a dick when I tell you there’s just no way you could ever do that. But I- I trusted you. I told you about Derek, right up front. And you used that, first chance you got, to try and fuck up the one thing that matters most to me. To mess with my _family_.”

Brandon folds his arms around himself, shoulders tight. “I said I was sorry for that.”

“I know, and I believe you mean it. But I just – I can’t trust you again. You tried to hurt my family.” He shrugs. “That’s... a deal-breaker for me.”

“So, no second chances?” And now he sounds mad. Probably better that way.

“Not with this. You already broke my trust two ways, first with hiding stuff and then what you did to Derek.” He hesitates, then remembers Derek’s pale face as he’d stood frozen in front of Brandon, and says flatly, “We shared a few mutual handjobs, Brandon. Nothing that we did together was worth this kind of hassle to me, and I don’t think I’m ever gonna forget the look on Derek’s face when you unloaded all of that shit onto him. It makes friendship pretty impossible for me.”

He steps around the other man and heads toward his room. He stops on the landing and turns back when Brandon calls, “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“I really am sorry.”

Stiles nods, tired. “I believe you.” He hitches his backpack over his shoulder and looks him right in the eye when he says, “Goodbye, Brandon.”

 

***

 

Derek lurks outside the dorm building. _Like a natural-born creeper_ , he can almost hear Stiles say, smiling.

Brandon is walking fast, upset, and Derek narrows his eyes, wondering, and then he catches the barest whiff of his mate. Just like that, rational thought is gone. He moves forward like the natural-born _predator_ he actually _is_ , catches Brandon’s elbow in a steely grip and steers him around the back of one of the buildings, to where a walled-off courtyard gives them relative privacy.

Brandon has barely had enough time to sputter and dig in his heels. When he spins around and catches sight of Derek, he pales and says, “Shit.” He backs up against the wall and lifts his hands, as if he needed to demonstrate how much of a non-threat he is, and says, “I didn’t touch him, I swear.”

“I don’t care if you touch him,” Derek says, low and clear. “If he wants it, that’s his choice. What I care about is the kind of game you played on Friday.”

“Uh-what?”

“I made an agreement with Stiles and I intend to honor it. Personally I think you’re a world-class dickbag but I’m not exactly upset that he’s not aiming higher for a random hookup. So. If he ever approaches you again, well, what happens next is up to the two of you. As long as you don’t try anything he doesn’t want, I don’t give a shit.”

Brandon blinks at him, clearly confused.

Derek leans closer and he flinches. “But if you _ever_ again make him worry about me and my feelings or my trust in him, if you _ever_ try your stupid head-games, any jokes about infidelity or whatever it is you mistake for wit...”

“I won’t- we won’t,” Brandon splutters. “ _Jesus_ , you’re terrifying. Look, I just came from talking to him. He hates my guts now, he won’t even talk to me. So there’s nothing- it’s over. Okay?”

“I told you, that’s up to Stiles.” And wow, what a liar he’s become. Because the idea of this _tool_ ever touching Stiles again makes Derek feel ten kinds of crazy. But he made this bed and he’ll fucking lie in it like a big boy. “He can change his mind, and if he does, if you try to screw with his head, I will find out. And I will find _you_.” He smiles, and he doesn’t even need fangs to make it sharp and nasty. “Trust me when I tell you, Brandon, you _don’t_ want that to happen.”

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Please note there are references to past sexual assault of an original character.

 

 

“Brandon approached me in the quad the other day,” Stiles surprises himself by saying. He watches himself blink in the little window at the bottom right of the screen.

Whoops. Probably should have led up to that, considering Derek knows he hasn’t seen Brandon in months. They’d talked it out a little on Skype, saved most of it for Stiles’ return home. Derek has been very quiet about the whole thing, and since Kerrie is now back – and her grandmother, Stiles _loves_ Kerrie’s grandmother – the itch is gone, mostly. Enough that he can deal, anyway. It helps that he has his secret project to focus on.

“Oh.” Derek doesn’t say anything else. There’s no sound of anything exploding off-screen, like the computer mouse, so clearly the alpha is practising self-restraint.

“Not for. Well.” He clears his throat and glances away. “He uh. Says he wants me to come to a GSA meeting, someone he wants me to meet.”

Derek thinks this over, nodding once. “You going?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, runs a nail along the seam of his jeans. “Maybe. I don’t- he doesn’t seem to be up to anything. Sounds sincere enough, this girl he’s met who’s transferred in from LA and needs some friends, I don’t know, I think there’s more to it than that. But. I went to a few meetings freshman year, it was okay. I’ve just kinda, been busy, you know?” He glances up.

Derek knows. Derek stresses constantly over knowing that Stiles is trying to graduate early so he can get back home faster. Oh, he _knows_.

“Couldn’t hurt to get out of your room for a while,” is all Derek says. What he means, of course is, _you should be enjoying this time and if you don’t, it’s all my fault_.

And then Ellie barrels through the study door shouting, “Stiles, Stiles! I got _roller shoes!”_ and the conversation takes a different turn from there, one with more than a few crashes, and lots of freaky werewolf reflex displays.

So Stiles goes.

It’s all fine, some familiar faces, not many, and it’s the usual routine. Stiles looks around the room, definitely not cruising for talent, even the thought of it still makes his stomach roil, but he looks anyway, people are always fascinating.

There’s a guy he recognizes from one of his Spanish classes, talking to a lanky redhead in running gear, and as he watches Brandon slips into the room, glances all around as if he’s looking for something, eyes stopping almost immediately on Stiles.

He just looks glad. Maybe relieved, Stiles isn’t sure. But he gives Brandon a head tilt in acknowledgement, is a little relieved himself when the other guy heads over to Spanish dude’s little group in the corner instead of zeroing in on Stiles.

Stiles murmurs a greeting to someone he remembers from his earlier meetings and grabs a slice of pizza before retreating to an empty chair halfway down a row. He’s curious, can’t quite help it so he glances up a few seconds later to the far corner.

He catches something in Brandon’s body language when the redhead reaches around him for a handful of chips, and for a minute he forgets their damaged relationship, cocks a sardonic brow at Brandon, who flushes.

Stiles grins and glances away, feels a little worry ease around his chest. And then people are taking their seats and the meeting is starting and it’s all fine, it’s good, even.

After the meeting, Brandon catches him by the door and says, “Stiles, this is Cassie. She just transferred from SoCal.”

“Hey,” he greets her with a nod. She’s a tiny little thing, her hair is very nearly strawberry blonde and he feels a wave of homesickness that startles him in its intensity. “Another refugee from California, huh? Welcome.”

“Hi,” she returns very calmly, but there’s a tightness to her body language that has Stiles blinking. He recognizes that carefulness, the way she’s measuring him and the rigid envelope of space she is keeping between her body and everyone else’s. He’d been the same way, after Gerard Argent. His eyes flick to Brandon who is watching her, intent.

“Cassie’s thinking about taking up TaeKwonDo,” Brandon offers.

“Oh, hey, you definitely should,” Stiles says, thoughts racing, because that’s another kind of confirmation, not conclusive, of course, but. “It’s good to do something other than study once in a while, y’know? And it really helps me, like, think clearer, feel stronger.”

He barely hesitates before he adds, “I got beaten up pretty badly, back in high school,” and swallows once because it’s still not easy to think about. “I used to have these panic attacks just out of nowhere, after, and I really feel like it’s helped me out. Be calmer, less anxious. I liked getting that feeling of control back.”

Brandon is blinking at him, startled.

Cassie had gone very still at Stiles’ revelation, and the look she gives him is equal parts comforted and cynical. “Volunteer that information a lot, do you?” Then she turns to glare at Brandon, stepping away.

“Brandon didn’t tell me anything about you,” Stiles says, raising his voice just slightly, and she hesitates, glances back. “He didn’t have to,” he says, shrugging. “I recognize the signs.”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t walk away either. He hitches his bag onto his shoulder and says, “You should check it out. I can promise not to talk to you if you want. But at least come along and take a look.”

He waits, keeping his eyes one hers, and after a long hesitation, Cassie nods once. Stiles nods back.

 

* * *

 

It’s a beautiful, bright sunny day when she tells him. _It’s not right_ , Stiles can’t help thinking, though he knows it’s a childish dream. The world shouldn’t look like that when someone is remembering something like – _this_.

Cassie smiles, bitter, and her eyes are distant. “My word against theirs. Five of them, one of me, I’d been drinking the night it _allegedly_ happened.” The brittle way she says that makes Stiles’ stomach hurt. “And Jared, the- the ringleader,” she stumbles over his name. “His Dad’s a _judge_. No-one...” she trailed off and shrugged, staring into the distance. “It never even actually got to court.”

 _“Fuckers,”_ Stiles says, low and helpless. They’re silent for a long time, and he doesn’t move to wrap her in a hug no matter how badly he wants to. It takes time, but finally she lets out a long breath and lets herself lean against him, just a little. Stiles feels the press of her arm along his and closes his eyes against the surge of protective rage.

It’s too big to contain. He can’t act on it, so he just sits there, quiet, with Cassie, and lets it burst through the bond. On the other side of the country he knows Derek can feel it, the fury and the driving need to do something. There’s going to be some explaining to do when he flies home tomorrow. Stiles wonders what will happen after that.

He’s not sure whether it’s Derek, or Stiles himself that is going to be harder to control.

 

* * *

 

Stiles licks his lips. “These douchebags. These... _animals_ that did this to Cassie. They got away with it.”

Derek lets out a long, low rumble of fury. The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up even as a part of him applauds.

“You can’t,” he says hastily and grabs his arm. _Shit_. He should have thought this through, but he’d just been so fucking _furious_. “Derek. You can’t risk anything going wrong and getting into trouble. Not with Ellie.”

It’s a long, slow breath before Derek’s fangs recede. Then he nods, once, reluctant. Cassie has dropped in on more than a few of Stiles’ Skype sessions home by now. The whole pack knows her. Ellie is mimicking her hairstyle – the ultimate compliment.

“He can’t. But we can,” Erica says from behind Stiles. He turns and sees her, leaning casually in the doorway. Every line of her body is tight with fury.

“I’ve been wanting to learn to surf,” Boyd says from behind her.

“Beach holiday sounds great,” adds Isaac.

Stiles swallows. “Guys.”

“She’s sure, right? She knows who they are?”

Stiles nods slowly, not sure if this is a line he’s prepared to cross. He’s the son of a Sheriff. He believes in law and order, he _does_.

But he also knows there are nights when his Dad sits at the table and drinks steadily, staring at files that he never closed, where evidence was weak, cases where the victims gave up and withered away while their attackers smirked in triumph or retired to Boca.

“Then we’ll just drive on down the coast and take a look,” Erica says. “Dirtbags like that, if they did it once, they’ll do it again. We can just sit and wait and watch.”

Derek nods once. “Go,” he says. “But be careful.”

“Be _smart_ ,” Stiles amends.

 

***

 

Wow. So maybe Stiles had taught them a little _too_ well.

“It’s done,” Erica tells him, voice cracking in triumph down the line.

“It’s- what did you- are you guys all-”

“We’re fine. _They’re_ alive,” she says dismissively. “And mostly unharmed.”

_“Mostly?”_

“Asshole number one, Jared? He copped a stiletto heel to the testicles,” she says coolly. “It’s possible he’ll never get an erection again.”

“He _what?”_ Stiles’ mouth drops open and he locks eyes with Derek, who also looks more than a little startled. Then the corner of Derek’s mouth twitches and it’s the _pride_ in his eyes that puts it all together for Stiles.

“Jesus. _Erica_. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she says, and he can almost hear the shrug. In the background, someone is snickering – Boyd or Isaac, he can’t quite tell. “We went to a kegger at a local fraternity. I had a few drinks, they handed me another, I wandered off to clear my head and these knuckle draggers followed me. Five of them.”

Stiles makes a choking noise. Oh my fucking God. _Erica_.

“Seems they thought they’d slipped me something,” she says airily. “Like I told the cops, I guess it was lucky I didn’t finish my drink. Somehow I had just enough strength to kick him off me... about seven times... and call for help.” She pauses and adds thoughtfully, “I think actually his screaming might have been louder than mine, though. Either way, my knights in shining armour showed up to hand out some black eyes and call the cops. They’re all in custody now.”

“You are _terrifying_ and _wonderful_ ,” Stiles tells her fervently.

“Things we already knew,” she snarks, and hangs up.

 

***

 

Cassie arrives in Beacon Hills a week later. Stiles picks her up at the airport on his own, since Derek is at a client meeting. It’s so, _so_ good to see her, Stiles is a little shocked at the rush of emotion that hits him when she shoves her sunglasses to the top of her head and gives him that little pointed grin of hers.

They hug, which is new for them, and Stiles is never going to forget how much of a privilege it is that she lets him breach her personal space like that.

“Come on,” he says, “let me show off my home town for you.”

And when they drive past the welcome to Beacon Hills sign, missing an “e” for almost five years, she throws back her head and laughs until she cries.

“Bacon Hills,” she says. “Man, I’m gonna _love_ this town.”

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	6. Chapter 6

 

“Cassie,” Stiles says tentatively. He’s holding a newspaper clutched tight in his hands. “Can I-do you have a minute?” God, he has no idea if this is the right thing to do or not, but he just, he can’t let her keep on thinking they got away with it. Not for another minute.

“I, um. Have you, you probably haven’t seen this. Yet. But you should. Uh.” Finally he just thrusts the paper towards her like an idiot and glances helplessly toward Derek who is lurking back a few steps, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

She takes it, bemused, though her amusement dies when she recognizes the name of the paper, and the headline.

“What. What is this?”

Stiles swallows as her eyes scan down the page.

“How- how did you?”

He blinks at her. He hadn’t expected her to leap straight to that question. Had thought she’d be more focused on the guys being caught, on the punishment. And on the two other women who had come forward to press charges of their own.

But she’s staring at him, eyes wet, the paper shaking in her hands. “You did this,” she says, and her eyes flick past Stiles to Derek. “Both of you.”

Stiles shakes his head, wrongfooted into instant, stupid denial. “Whuh? No, no we, uh, we were here, in Beacon H-”

 _“Yes,”_ Derek says over the top of Stiles. There’s a low hint of bass growl in his voice, and Stiles shifts so he has them both in his range of vision, startled all over again. Derek’s _never_ this obvious around civilians.

Cassie’s hands tighten around the paper and she licks her lips, looking suddenly nervous. And no wonder. There’s a feeling in the air, a hairs-rising-on-the-back-of-your-neck kind of feeling-

“I can tell you,” Derek keeps talking, “but it’s the kind of thing you can’t un-know,” he says. “And it’s a dangerous secret to share.”

Oh my fucking God. _Derek_. Stiles turns to stare at him. “ _What?”_

Derek meets his eyes and Stiles stops. He swallows, and blinks. Well, shit, okay. Here is the downside of having an awesome relationship that includes a bond. Because Stiles had, definitely thought about it. Had maybe, considered, when he invited Cass to come out here, but... well. He’d planned to bring it up at some point soon. Probably when Derek was post-coital, and might therefore be more amenable to maybe expanding the pack.

Ugh. Stiles fucking _hates_ being obvious.

Derek smirks at him, the asshole. “Stiles. Do you honestly think I can’t tell when you have a new favourite?”

Stiles scowls at him. “She’s not my favourite.” She totally is, though. The last few months have been _awesome_ , experiencing college with Cass at his side. They just _clicked._ It’s a damn shame she’s close to graduating.

“Um. What the hell are the two of you talking about? Because this is starting to get kind of creepy.”

Stiles sighs and turns back to Cassie. “Sorry. You’re uh, you might have to get used to that. Sourwolf over here can’t really help himself sometimes.”

“I’m a lot better than I used to be,” Derek says mildly, and he moves forward to wrap an arm around Stiles’s waist, hooks his chin over Stiles’ shoulder.

“You are,” Stiles admits, giving him the side-eye, “but considering you had a kind of serial-killer vibe when I met you, the improvements you’ve made have really only raised you to a sketchy person-of-interest standard.” This doesn’t seem to reassure Cassie overly much. “You’re lucky the Sheriff likes you.”

“I’m a model citizen, now,” Derek protests. Then he smiles dangerously at Cassie. “Unless I have good reason not to be.”

Holy _shit_. Stiles feels his jaw drop open.

Derek likes her. Like, actually _likes_ her. He’s not doing this as a favour to Stiles. Stiles gapes at him for a moment. Derek can charm total strangers with absolute ease – he’s only this bad at interaction when it means something to him. Derek meets his eyes and for a moment they just stare at one another, and then Stiles bursts out laughing.

“You fucking faker,” he says. “You couldn’t have said something?”

“I’m inarticulate,” Derek points out, lips twitching. “You’re the talker in this relationship.”

“Yeah,” Stiles snorts, “for good reason. You terrify people when you talk.” He turns back to Cassie, who is staring at them both like they’re crazy. “Cass,” he says softly, “here’s the thing. I care about you. Like, a lot. A lot, okay? You feel like – like one day, you could be family.”

Her throat moves in a swallow, like she’s touched by the sentiment, but she’s still wary. He goes back over his head and realizes it maybe sounded like a come on, or an invitation to a threesome, considering that Derek is right here with him. Stiles tries again.

“And what Derek is talking about? Is kind of family too, though in a different way.”

“Are you part of some kind of cult?” she asks sickly. “God _damn_ it, Stiles, I liked you-”

“We’re not part of a cult,” Stiles soothes.

“Nothing so simple,” Derek murmurs.

“Oh my fucking God would you _stop helping me?_ ” Stiles demands, exasperated.

Derek shrugs.

When Stiles turns back to face Cass, she is still staring, but there’s less panic.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she says slowly, “but I – I don’t think it’s wrong. I mean, you’re both clearly more than a little crazy, but I don’t.” She stops, glances down at the paper in her hands and then folds it over so the headline is concealed.

When she lifts her head, Cassie says slowly, “I can’t believe you could ever be... bad. Not _you_ , Stiles.” She eyes Derek uncertainly. And then, after a moment, says, tartly, “ _You_ , I could believe it.” Stiles snorts, and then she adds, “If anyone ever hurt Stiles, or Ellie... yeah.” She nodded. “You’d go bad, all right. But you’d have a _reason_.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s smug pleasure in the back of his head, and rolls his eyes at his mate. “You do get that that wasn’t exactly a compliment, right? She’s saying you’re a bit wackadoodle.”

“She’s saying I would protect my family,” Derek rumbles. “She’s right.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, slapping a hand over his face. This is just going so badly. Stiles officially gives up. “Fine. Just– show her, then.”

He keeps his eyes on Cassie’s face as Derek shifts, watches her eyes widen, skin losing colour, and she staggers back a little, then puts out a hand to catch herself on the porch railing. “Oh my God,” she says once, twice. “Oh my- Wow. Holy _shit_.”

“Yup,” Stiles says. It hits him suddenly that he’s never been around for this part of it before. How did Derek _do_ any of this? And then _duh_ , he thinks with a snort, _he did it really, really badly_. “So, uh. Want to join our freaky werewolf club?”

This time Derek is the one who snorts derisively. Laughing makes him lose the fangs, and it seems to help Cassie even out. She doesn’t faint, at least.

This is how badly the two of them have fucked it up. The big reveal can be considered a success, because _she didn’t actually faint_.

 

***

 

Stiles can’t help but be relieved that Cassie came to stay, because she’s an extra distraction for Ellie while he has The Talk with Derek, about where he’s going to finish his degree.

For once, though, them Having A Talk goes pretty well.

“I’m not just- it’s not just about us, or the pack thing,” Stiles says, when Derek has spent a good five minutes doing that thing where he broods and communicates mostly via eyebrow. “There’s a researcher, one of Professor Colby’s former PhD students, and she’s trying to get funding for this huge study. She teaches at Stanford, and if she gets her grant, she’ll need assistants. It’s looking at domestic violence and sexual assaults, victimology, the whole works. If could get an in with her team, maybe score some regular hours as a research assistant...”

He swallows. “It’s- look, even Dad is on board with this, okay? Because there’s a chance, if I want to keep going, I could apply to the graduate program there, and if the study is going well they’ll want more research-”

Derek is staring down at his hands. “You’re sure,” he says to his feet. “Stiles, you’re sure that this won’t hurt-”

“Babe,” he interrupts. “I’m sure.”

Derek tilts his head up. Stiles swallows. He’s nervous. So fucking nervous, and then Derek’s mouth shifts, he bites his lip, and he’s trying to hold back the hugest smile Stiles has ever seen. “You’d be in California?” he asks, like a kid at Christmas.

“Yeah, babe,” he manages, his throat tight.

“No more flying across the country?”

“Yeah, that’s the only downside,” Stiles begins, “I’m gonna really miss all that airline food _mph_ -” he’s wrapped up in the tightest hug he’s ever had from Derek.

“Oh God,” the alpha is saying into Stiles’ throat, “thank _Christ_. I’ve missed you so fucking much, Stiles, I just wanted to drag you home every time I went out there and watching Ellie’s face each time you getting ready to leave made me just want to smash things-”

“I know,” he manages, laughing into Derek’s shoulder. “Babe, I know.”

It’s a long time before either one of them is coherent enough to speak. “Wait, your Dad knows?” Derek asks, leaning back a little.

“I told him I was applying for transfer,” Stiles says. “He doesn’t know I got it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were applying?”

“In case I didn’t get it,” Stiles shrugs. “It would’ve been cruel.”

Derek turns his face into Stiles’ cheek, nuzzles his ear. “Ellie is going to explode,” he says, smiling.

Stiles smiles, too. Then bites his lip. There’s some work to be done there. His absence has hurt Ellie more than anyone else, he thinks, because it had to feel so damn familiar to her every time he left her behind. But they have time now, and it’ll only get better from here. He’s wondering if maybe talking to her therapist might not be a bad way to start addressing things.

That wary distance she sometimes maintains... he’ll wear it down. He’s got years to work on this.

He’s coming _home._

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another few chapters to add, but they're very different thematically, there's also a big leap in time, so I'm going to make it another part of the series. I'll be posting it soon, though.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for sticking with me this far!


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